


to step into the sun

by alovelylight



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Mythology References, Symbolism, icarus - Freeform, implied silverflint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 09:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovelylight/pseuds/alovelylight
Summary: It seemed an ironic thing, to turn into the damaged flesh of your old lover (if that was even what they were), and to finally understand him when all you had of him were the fragments of stories, the old memories, the whispering of ghosts in the dark. The betrayal.But such was the nature of stories—you were never in control of how it claims you.





	to step into the sun

The story goes: Icarus, hubris-painted and dream-driven, wanted to step into the sun and fell as a consequence, and the poets dedicated verses to his demise ever since. Rarely did they ever use ink on Daedalus, the unsung engineer whose hands made those wings, whose vision spawned that story. 

In the concluding chapters of his life, Billy would regret stitching those same wings that lifted John Silver from the ground and turned him into god. He would regret sending him for the sky, where the sun casted its inescapable light. He would regret staring into the sun and being blinded by its armor. Indeed, Billy Bones would regret a great deal of many things. 

It seemed his first memorable regret, the first stone, came from Flint. In the quiet with himself, when he closed his eyes and let the darkness take over, he could still hear the raspy whisper of the waves, the roughness of world-weary flesh, the wash of guilty pleasure when the tide breaks. In these moments, the demons he kept under the drunken sea of his mind would escape and rise to taunt him.

The guests of the inn viewed him with fear and suspicion in their eyes. Fools, all of them; lost in the falsehoods the moment that the story of Flint and Silver left him in the dust. If only they could step into his memories, look through the desperate light of his eyes as he watched the broken man love the sun despite all that has happened. And the sun, it seemed, was destined to love men who met their fall. 

But that was the thing about stories: once you’ve stepped into your role, it was impossible to leave. This was what Flint raged and wept, killed and fought against. Billy had never fully understood; even in the peaceful dark and stillness of the world, Flint’s eyes looked into some distant past Billy couldn’t enter. 

It seemed an ironic thing, to turn into the damaged flesh of your old lover (if that was even what they were), and to finally understand him when all you had of him were the fragments of stories, the old memories, the whispering of ghosts in the dark. The betrayal.

But such was the nature of stories—you were never in control of how it claims you.


End file.
